prettymacca
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The music mingled with the sound of choreography, and John watched as he whisked Paul away and saw him give himself to the music, splayed and pliant and trusting, so trusting. John knew he knew the music was going to make something beautiful out of him, an artwork breathing with life— while John was but a lone painter, with the colours of music staining his hands.
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Sunset in your eyes. Moondust in the lining of your skin. What hope did I ever have? This is the story of stable boy in love with a beautiful prince.